


The Tailor

by Sestra_Prior



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Language, Humor, M/M, Parody, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-06
Updated: 2009-03-06
Packaged: 2018-10-01 00:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10176230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sestra_Prior/pseuds/Sestra_Prior
Summary: Harry discovers a sudden pressing need for some new robes.





	

All characters belong to Ms J K Rowling- I make no money from having my evil way with them!

 **Author’s notes** With many thanks, as always, to my wonderful beta, RaeWhit, for correcting all my nefarious mistakes and for taming those wayward ellipses! 

 

This is for She Who Must Be Obeyed. I’m now going away to imagine those choc chip and hazelnut cookies!

 

 

 

****

The Tailor

“I don’t believe it!”

A soggy mouthful of cornflakes landed on Hermione’s book, and she brushed it off with a grimace. “Ron!” she protested.

Ron glanced at the offending mess, and gave a grin of apology. “Sorry, ‘Mione...but you have to see this...look!”

He shoved the _Prophet_ across the kitchen table to Hermione, finger pointing at the article that had drawn his attention. His finger was not really necessary, as Hermione could see immediately what had caused Ron’s exclamation.

“ _High class wizards-wear Emporium, opening soon_ ,” she read. “ _Mr Lucius Malfoy is soon to open what he describes as a shop for the discerning wizard. Robes of Quality_ for _the Quality is the catchphrase he intends to use on his advertising banner, and this correspondent is sure_....” Hermione stopped reading.

“Can you believe it?” Ron demanded.

“Can I believe what?” came a sleepy voice from the doorway.

Ron and Hermione glanced up as Harry entered the kitchen...Ron’s expression turned to one akin to awe.

“Bloody Hell, Harry...you look awful.”

“What time did you get in last night?” Hermione asked crossly.

Ron hooted. “Last night? This morning, more like!”

Harry yawned hugely, and rubbed at his sleep-swollen eyes. “Urm, I suppose it must have been about....”

“Don’t tell her,” Ron interrupted urgently, “you know she’ll only nag.” 

“Anyway...what can I believe?” Harry asked again, in an attempt to divert the conversation away from the dangerous ground of what time he had come home and where he had been. His exploration of his... _preferences_ was still in the early stages and he did not want to share his findings with his friends _just_ yet.

“This.” Ron pulled the paper from Hermione’s unresisting fingers, and pointed out the offending article. Harry quickly scanned the piece.

“So, what do you think? How the mighty are fallen. Ha, Lucius Malfoy, a _shopkeeper_ ; wonder what the Ferret thinks of that? And who in their right minds would go to a shop run by Malfoy?” Ron added, starting to devour his cornflakes again.

“Lots of people,” Hermione stated calmly.

Both boys stared at her as if she had suddenly sprouted wings.

“Erm, ‘Mione, this is _Malfoy_ we’re talking about.”

“And when did you see Mister Malfoy look anything less than utterly stunning?”

Ron opened and closed his mouth soundlessly; as it was currently full of cornflakes, this wasn’t very pleasant.

“I suppose you’re right. He always does look pretty hot,” Harry said without thinking.

Ron turned on his friend. “Hot? You think Malfoy looks _hot_? Are you mad? Hermione, feel his forehead, I think Harry must be coming down with something.”

Harry blushed. He hadn’t meant it to come out quite like that, but now that he thought about it, Malfoy always _did_ look hot... _very_ hot. He suddenly became rather glad his dressing gown covered a multitude of sins...well, one sin in particular at the moment. He busied himself, buttering some toast, aware that Ron’s eyes were still fixed on him suspiciously.

“What’s he doing running a shop, anyway?” Ron demanded, having finally assured himself that Harry wasn’t about to keel over in the middle of the kitchen.

“Well, he has to do something,” Hermione answered her boyfriend. “After all, all his assets were stripped after Harry defeated Voldemort. I believe they left him with enough money to last—by your father’s reckoning, Ron—one year. I suppose he decided to turn that capital into a business venture. I think he’ll do very well.”

Ron chased the last cornflakes around his bowl. “I don’t care...I don’t like it. And I won’t be going to his _Emporium_...neither will you, will you, Harry?”

Before Harry had a chance to reply, Hermione had interrupted, “No, you won’t be going to his Emporium, Ron...you wouldn’t be able to afford it. Besides, it said, ‘Quality Robes for the _Quality_ ,’ that definitely counts you out!”

“Oi!”

Harry let the bickering drift over his head as he crunched on his toast. He was glad that Hermione had negated the necessity of him answering Ron’s question, because he wasn’t at all sure his answer would have been to Ron’s liking.

 

****

****

Harry wasn’t quite sure he wanted to analyze his motivation for pushing open the door to “ _Malfoy’s_ ” the following week. But any illusion that it only had to do with the acquisition of some new clothes was swiftly punched in the gut the moment he caught sight of the shop’s proprietor.

Lucius was seated behind a large desk at the back of the shop, keeping a strict eye on his assistants as they hurried to serve the numerous customers. He lounged with unconscious ease, but as soon as he caught sight of Harry, Malfoy’s eyes narrowed and he rose swiftly to his feet, and made his way in Harry’s direction.

“Mister Potter, what a pleasant surprise. My little business is almost guaranteed success now that you have graced us with your presence.” 

Harry found his hand engulfed by a cool, firm one, and fervently wished he’d had time to surreptitiously wipe off the sweat that had suddenly dampened his palm. “Mister M...Malfoy,” he acknowledged, angry to hear his voice stutter over the older wizard’s name.

An assistant appeared at Lucius’ side, but he was abruptly waved away. “No, Atkins, I will deal with our illustrious visitor myself.”

Harry slowly became aware that Lucius still had hold of his hand, but he was so mesmerised by the grey eyes that held his own, that he made no move to remove it.

“And what exactly can I do for you today, Mister Potter?”

‘ _Oh God_ ,’ Harry thought, ‘ _I could think of a lot of things, but I doubt you’d want to do any of them_.’ A vivid mental film show began in Harry’s head; a series of sexually explicit scenarios flicked across his mind like a silent movie—with some really rather appalling background music, now that he thought about it. And what was with the crashing waves bit? And was _that_ even _possible_? 

Harry dragged himself back into the real world, to find Lucius regarding him somewhat quizzically. “Are you all right, Mister Potter?”

Harry nodded dumbly, then managed to squeak, “Robes.” Fighting to get his voice under control he tried again, “Robes, I need some new robes...yes, that’s it, just robes.” He nodded emphatically, as if daring anyone to suggest that his visit was purely to letch over the shop’s owner.

“Naturally...if you would care to follow me?”

Lucius led the way to the back of the shop, and through a doorway.

Glancing back over his shoulder he explained, “This is where I bring my more prestigious clients...it’s a little more private.”

Harry followed him into the fitting room.

“Now, if you would like to take off your clothes, Mister Potter? Then we can measure you.”

“My clothes? You want me to take them off?” Harry asked stupidly.

Lucius snapped the tape measure that had suddenly appeared in his hand. “If you please...I find it far more accurate to measure a client when they are unclothed.”

Yes, well, it had to be said that Harry had recently enjoyed one or...actually rather a _lot_ of fantasies where Lucius asked him to strip, but he had to admit this particular scenario hadn’t figured in any of them. However, unless he wanted to look like a complete fool, he would just have to do as he was told. Harry just hoped that certain parts of his anatomy didn’t wake up and decide to take an interest in things.

Lucius had turned his back, as if sensing his customer’s embarrassment—Harry failed to notice the strategically placed mirror—so the young wizard set about removing his clothing and placing it on a nearby chair.

“I’m done,” he said in a small voice, swiftly moving a cupped hand over his genitals. He should have known better. At the first brush of his hand, his cock woke up with a resounding, “woo hoo,” and decided to make a bid for freedom through the front of his boxers. Harry was hard-pressed to decide which was redder—his face or his Gryffindor pants.

Lucius squashed a smirk, and sank to his knees at Harry’s feet.

‘Hagrid in a tutu, Hagrid in a tutu, Hagrid in a tutu’. It didn’t work; there was too much of Harry screaming, ‘Lucius Malfoy is on his knees at my feet...Lucius Malfoy is on his knees at my feet....’

He leaped about a foot in the air when a sliver of cold metal was pressed into his groin.

“Oh, deary me...I should have remembered to warm the end.” Lucius withdrew the tape measure, opened his mouth, and breathed on the little silver sliver; his eyes never left Harry’s. The warm breath sidled past the end of the tape, paying it only cursory attention, then made a bee-line for the gap in Harry’s boxers, creeping through to insidiously caress his cock. Harry bit his lip.

“Now then...let’s see if this is more to your liking.”

Lucius once more pressed the tape measure back into Harry’s groin, obviously trying to ignore the fact that Harry’s cock, having been thwarted by the button front, was now trying to escape from the top of his boxers.

“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled.

“About what?” Lucius asked smoothly. “Notes!” he added abruptly. A note pad and quill pen picked themselves up off a nearby desk, and floated across the room; Lucius began to dictate Harry’s measurements. 

He was very thorough; by the time the older wizard had finished, Harry didn’t think there was an inch of him that hadn’t been minutely examined. The only thing that Lucius hadn’t measured was the length of Harry’s cock, and Harry wasn’t at all sure that he didn’t rather regret that fact; he doubted if it had ever been so big, and he was rather concerned it might never be so again—a written record might have been useful to prove he wasn’t prone to exaggeration. 

Lucius slung the tape measure around his neck. “And now...what side does Sir usually prefer to dress?”

“I, er...I suppose I...probably the left...yes, the left, because that is where my wardrobe is.”

“Your wardrobe?” Lucius frowned. “But what has that to do with it?”

“You...you asked what side I dress on. My wardrobe is on the left hand side of my bedroom, so that is where I stand. Why does it matter where I stand when I dress?”

Lucius pressed his lips together in an obvious effort not to laugh. “The side you dress, Mister Potter, means what side of your underwear you prefer to stow your... _tackle_.” The older wizard dropped his eyes meaningfully to Harry’s groin.

“Oh, oh...I see. God, I’m so stupid. It’s just that no-one ever asked me...I’ve never...”

“You have never frequented a high-class tailor’s, Mister Potter,” Lucius finished.

“Still the left.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The left...I _dress_ on the left,” Harry mumbled, although the point was really rather moot at the moment, seeing as his cock had taken a firm stand right slap bang in the _middle_ of his underwear.

Lucius’ only comment was a muted, “Hmmm,” as he moved to stand behind Harry.

Harry caught sight of himself in the cheval glass that stood against the wall. And caught sight of the rosy end of his cock sticking eagerly out of the top of his boxers. And the reflection of Lucius stood behind him.

“So, Mister Potter, what will it be?” Lucius queried enigmatically.

Harry was just about to give in and blurt, ‘ _Up against the wall or over that chair, as long as you fuck me NOW!_ ’ when Lucius added, “We have many different sorts of material. Do you require dress robes or robes for everyday?”

Harry met Lucius’ reflected gaze miserably, and debated whether to proposition the blond wizard anyway. In the end he shied away from getting hexed into next week, and managed a strangled, “Both.”

“Very good.” Lucius left the room.

Harry wondered if he had time bring himself to a very necessary climax, but instead settled for trying to force his cock back into his pants. His cock was having none of it. Having had a taste of freedom, it was reluctant in the extreme to be forced back into the dark confines of Harry’s boxers. Harry struggled manfully with it for a few moments, before managing to hook the elastic waistband over the tip of his cock—which then proceeded to make a tent large enough to house a small company of scouts. Harry let out a defeated sigh, and decided to let his cock have its own way.

He was still fiddling with his pants, when Lucius swiftly entered the room.

Harry once again did his impression of a tomato. 

Lucius merely dropped the load of material he was carrying onto the back of a chair, and then picked the top one up and came to stand behind Harry once again. He then proceeded to drape the material over Harry’s shoulder, allowing a swath of the rich dark-green velvet to cascade down Harry’s front...and brush against Harry’s already over-excited cock.

“Hmm,” Lucius remarked. “Beautiful.” His elegant hands smoothed the material over Harry’s shoulders, and Harry bit back a needy whimper at the feel of Lucius’ caress. “I thought this shade would compliment the colour of your eyes. Very nice.” Lucius whipped the material away, and placed it on the back of another chair. “And black,” he went on, picking out a heavy, black satin from the pile of swatches and draping that over Harry. This time he stood so near to Harry’s back that the young wizard could feel Lucius’ warmth.

Lucius reached around Harry’s body, pressing himself even closer as he did so, and twitched the folds of material across Harry’s body. As Lucius did so, his knuckles grazed over Harry’s erection.

Harry gasped.

Lucius smirked. “Oh, I do beg your pardon.” 

Harry managed a strangled squeak, and wondered desperately how he was going to stop himself from coming right there and then. Thankfully, before he was undone entirely, Lucius moved away from him once more.

“Those materials are, of course, for more formal occasions, so I think…” The older wizard paused, scrutinising the pile of fabrics. “Ah, yes, this should do nicely.”

This time the material was a soft-as-butter wool that whispered over Harry’s skin as Lucius artfully draped it around him. Once again the adjusting hand brushed against Harry’s cock.

It was no good. Without any manual stimulation at all, Harry was going to come in his pants, right there, in the dressing room, in front of Lucius Malfoy. His face crumpled. “I’m sorry,” he began.

Lucius met his eyes in the mirror. Without a word, the older wizard whisked the material from Harry’s body, spun the young wizard round, and pulled Harry into his arms. “Not yet, you don’t,” he growled, before his mouth covered Harry’s. One arm held Harry close, whilst the other grasped the waistband of Harry’s boxers and slid them down Harry’s thighs until they fell off of their own accord. Harry stumbled out of them, only held upright by Lucius’ arms.

Harry gave a small whimper. If Lucius didn’t want Harry to come yet, Harry felt obliged to point out that he really shouldn’t be pressing Harry’s naked body to his own in quiet... _eep_...that way. And he certainly shouldn’t be kissing Harry....

Before Harry disgraced himself, he felt the familiar squeeze of Apparition, which coincidentally—and rather fortuitously—managed to relocate some of the blood away from Harry’s cock and back into the rest of his body.

Harry then found himself face down on a sumptuous black silk coverlet, that was cunningly—and rather enchantingly—embroidered with little green snakes that had been formed into the initials “L.M.”. From which Harry surmised it must be Lucius’ bed he was face down on...and that must be Lucius’ now naked body suddenly pressing itself to Harry’s back. And that must be Lucius’ hard cock pressing between the cheeks of Harry’s arse.

Notwithstanding his earlier unspoken desire for Lucius to fuck him, Harry felt this was moving things just a tad too fast. His own explorations into his sexuality had not in fact...not quite as much...really only...very little if he had to admit it...aside from a few mutual wanks and a very pleasant blow job he had received.... He was, in fact, still a virgin.

He managed to squiggle round under Lucius’ body into what—in his naivety—he considered to be a safer position...on his back. Lucius didn’t seem to mind; he simply seized Harry’s lips possessively, and began to swirl his tongue around the inside of Harry’s mouth. Which was very pleasant, Harry had to admit. Also very pleasant—exceptionally so—was the feel of Lucius’ cock pressed against his own, and sliding against it in the most erotic, sensuous...likely to precipitate imminent climax...way.

Managing to regain control of his mouth—and tongue—Harry managed to squeak, “Going to come...now!”

In answer, Lucius slid down Harry’s body and engulfed Harry’s cock with his mouth, and Harry discovered that Lucius was every bit as good at giving head as he was at kissing. Harry came with a cry that he was quite sure must have been heard in Hogsmeade. 

He lay panting, eyes unfocused, as he rode the aftershocks of one of the most mind-blowing orgasms he had ever experienced...and Lucius hadn’t even fucked him yet.

The man in question suddenly loomed over Harry, his long blond hair tickling Harry’s heated skin in the most delicious way. Harry’s cock, which had been lying in flaccid, satisfied bliss, decided it wasn’t as shagged out as it had previously thought, and began to rise to the occasion.

“Better, Mister Potter?” Lucius asked.

Harry nodded emphatically. “Definitely...although, do you think you could call me Harry?”

“Most certainly, _Harry_.” 

Lucius rolled the word out of his mouth, and Harry was staggered at how erotic the man could make a simple name sound.

Lucius’ hard cock pressed once more against Harry’s rapidly hardening member, and Harry considered it high time he admitted his...his...lack of experience.

“I’ve never...” he began.

“I know,” Lucius interrupted smoothly. “Don’t worry, I’ve experience enough for both of us.”

 

****

****

“Good day, Harry?” Ron asked, as Harry sidled into the kitchen later that day.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry answered noncommittally.

“So, where’ve you been, then?” Ron queried.

“Here and there.”

“Blimey, mate, there’s no need to sound so cagey. If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to. I’m only your best friend, after all.”

“I’ve been to the tailor’s,” Harry snapped. “If you must know.”

“The tailor’s? I hope you didn’t get _stitched up_ , geddit, Harry? Stitched up?” Ron guffawed at his own joke. 

“Not at all,” Harry replied, trying desperately to squash a smirk. “Actually, I think I got pretty good value for money. I may well go back and get some more,” he added, before realising that now Ron was bound to ask him where he’d gone. Predictable as ever...

“So, which one did you go to?” Ron asked. “Not Malfoy’s, I hope? As if,” he added, supplying his own answer, and breaking into fresh sniggers of laughter.

Harry opened and closed his mouth. Thankfully, he was saved by the bell...or rather, the less-than-dulcet tones of Hermione. “Ronald Bilius Weasley!”

Harry grinned as Ron grimaced. “Oh dear, Ron, mate, looks like you’re in trouble. All three names, must be bad. Best go and see what’s wrong,” he advised.

Ron slunk out of the room as Harry, whistling as he thought about just how many robes he could fit into his wardrobe, put the kettle on.

_~Fin~_


End file.
